Messi Time

Jesus marched into the room waving his copy of this month’s Cool Science magazine. “Here, Dad. Have you seen this?”

God stirred from his slumber and rubbed his weary eyes, but refrained from pressing the Up button on his leather lazy-boy chair. “Can’t it wait, Son? You know I like to have some Me time in the late afternoon.”

“You might not have time for Me time soon.”

“Believe me, Son. There’ll always be time for some Me time. Did I set this universe up just so I could spend my later life maintaining it? No, of course not. Now pass me the remote over, Barcelona are on soon.”

Jesus grabbed the remote from among the empty bottles of Moet on the coffee table and sat on the arm of his Dad’s chair. “Look, scientists have discovered neutrinos travelling faster than the speed of light.”

“Och, don’t talk shite, Son. Nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. It’s a law of physics. Einstein himself told me that. Remember that day he did a lot of scribbling on a blackboard? To be honest, I didn’t have a clue what he was on about, but he seemed to know his stuff.”

“That’s what I thought too, but these Italian scientists have repeated their experiment and got the same results. Neutrinos are definitely faster than light.”

God reluctantly pressed the Up button and brought himself to a more upright position before pulling his specs from his shirt pocket and taking a closer look at the magazine. “Mm, interesting.”

Jesus leapt from the arm of the chair. “What you going to do?”

Handing Jesus back the magazine with one hand God changed the channel to Sky Sports with the other. “I’m going to watch Messi and Barcelona beat Madrid in El Classico. Are you sure you don’t want to grab a couple of beers and watch him with me?”

“You know I’m not really into football, Dad. Music’s more my thing. It’s…eh…much more spiritual.”

“Spiritual my arse. That’s the company you’ve been keeping giving you too many drugs.”

“Come on now, Dad. I’m sure you did a few things when you were my age. You can’t blame my experimentation of different substances on Jimi or Janice. It was me who introduced them to MDMA.”

“What the hell is MDMA? Oh, never mind. When are you going to get that hair cut? It’s almost down to your backside.”

“I like my hair. Chicks dig it.”

“Chicks dig it? Listen to yourself.”

“Oh, I see what you’re doing. I take it you don’t understand what these speeding neutrinos mean. You’re out of touch…old man.”

With these words Jesus knew what he was doing. God liked to pride himself on knowing everything and hated the thought of his Son getting one over on him. He knew Jesus’s time would come one day. And when it came he knew his own reign would be nearing the end. It was the natural order of things. He remembered how long before this universe was created he’d often sat with his Dad discussing the way of all things past, present and future. And then one day it happened. He realised his Dad was out of touch with modern thinking. God had wanted to expand. Build a universe from scratch. He’d tried to describe how wondrous a place the universe would be but his Dad preferred the status quo of nothingness. Nothingness was safe. There was no box to think outside of. And now, as Jesus stood in front of him running dirty-fingers through long, greasy hair, full of dreams and fanciful ideas of not just one universe but of countless universes, all running parallel yet never meeting, he realised his time might be almost up sooner than he hoped. But he wasn’t going down without a fight. All he had to do was find out what was so special about those bloody neutrinos.

“It means time travel is possible,” said Jesus before God could think of how to get the answer. “It means anyone can travel back to the beginning of time and see how it all began. Don’t you see what a leap this is? I could travel back and see what you were like at my age.”

God tried to compose himself. He’d never seen Jesus so animated over his stupid science magazine. Perhaps there might be some truth and danger in this after all. Deciding it was probably best to do something, there was only one thing to do. He pressed another button on his chair and spoke to his secretary. “Hi Jean. Tell Albert Einstein I want to see him ASAP. And tell him to leave his chalk at home this time.”

Jesus laughed. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

God smiled. “Well, if you’re going to stick around make yourself useful and grab a couple of cold ones out the fridge. The game’s about to start. And don’t sit on the arm of my chair again. I’ve told you before. You’re far too big for that. Look at it; you’ve made it all out of shape. It’s not my fault you never got a chance to do it when you were younger. Blame Joseph for not designing a decent chair.”

Jesus sparked open a beer and planked himself on the couch to his Dad’s right. “So, what one’s Messi?”

God huffed. “Look, Son, if you’re going to start with the stupid questions you can wait on Einstein outside.”

“Christ sake. I was only asking.”

“Don’t get funny. Messi will be the one who has Messi on the back of his jersey.”

Jesus watched the bunch of little men needlessly chase a wee ball about a big park and thought back to his crucifixion before remembering David Attenborough’s Frozen Planet was on the other side. “You could record the football for later.”

“What?”

“You could record the football for later. Frozen Planet’s on BBC HD. We both like a bit of Frozen Planet.”

“No, I can’t record the football for later.”

“Why not? That’s not fair.”

“I’m taping Frozen Planet for after dinner.”

“I was just saying.”

God shook his head and sat forward as Messi collected the ball in his own half, nipped between Ozil and Di Maria, sprinted towards, then drifted past, the waiting Alonso, before jinking one way then the other, nutmegging Marcello and cutting inside towards Madrid’s last line of defence. Casillas came out and made himself big, but Messi squared the ball to Fabregas who slotted it home into the empty net. Silence fell on the Bernabeau. God jumped from his seat. “Gooooooooaaaaaallllll!!! Barcaaaaa!!!”

Jesus flicked through his magazine. “Did you hear the latest from Stephen Hawking?”

“Barcaaa! Barcaaa! Barcaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”

“Sit down. You talk about me acting my age.
You’ve spilled your beer over the rug Mohamed gave you.”

God sat back down. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll wash out. Get me another beer will you, Son. The game’s restarted.”

Jesus dragged his heels into the kitchen, grabbed another couple of beers and sat back down just as Ronaldo equalised for Madrid.

“Did you see that, Son? Bloody offside by a mile.”

“What’s offside?”

“That bloody fluky goal. That’s what.”

“No, I meant, what does offside mean?”

God thought about it for at least half a second. “Never mind, Son. Never mind.”

“Stephen Hawking says there’s no place for you anymore.”

“He what?”

“He says science now has all the answers or all the tools in place to find the answers.”

“The answers to what?”

“Don’t know. I didn’t read that far. Are you still going to let him into Heaven?”

God laughed. “Of course. I’m not vindictive anymore. That was the old Me. Mind you, we’ll both enjoy seeing his face when Peter swings open the old pearly gates and puts down the disabled ramp.”

“Maybe before he dies he’ll prove that we can’t exist and we therefore, having never existed in the first place, disappear into nothingness and...”

“Son, sometimes your head is so full of shit I think you must be adopted.” A gentle buzz in the air attracted God’s attention. “Yes, what is it Jean?”

“I have Mr Einstein waiting in the foyer.”

“Okay. Sort him out with a pot of tea or a beer and tell him he’ll have to wait till half time.”

Jesus took a sip of his beer then spoke in a hushed tone. “You really should let him in right away. This neutrino business is serious stuff. You don’t want to be left behind. Once the scientists can manipulate time they’ll travel to the future and know things you don’t know.”

The gentle buzz filled the air again. “Yes, Jean. What is it this time?”

“It’s…eh…it’s Mr Einstein. He says he has to come in right away. He doesn’t want to miss anymore of the game.”

God raised an eyebrow, wondering whether that was a miracle or a coincidence. Jesus was sure his Dad had pulled a fast one.

“Send him in, Jean. Son, grab Albert a beer.”

Albert sat in the seat to God’s left and discussed with him the beauty of Barcelona’s goal and the dirty ugliness of Madrid’s lucky effort. Together they cursed the match officials and wondered aloud as to how much those officials were being paid by the cheating scoundrels at Madrid.

Only Jesus was glad to hear the half-time whistle. “What’s with these neutrinos then, Albert? I hear they’re pretty fast. Looks like the end for your speed of light theory.”

Albert was unperturbed. He pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and was just about to get up and start writing a formula on the wall when God raised his hand. “Relax, both of you. Son, get us another beer first.”

When Jesus went into the kitchen God whispered to Albert. “So, what is the score with these bloody neutrinos?”

Albert leaned over and whispered back. “I think it’s Him downstairs.”

“Him? Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

Jesus walked back into the room just as God picked up his iPhone. “Come on, Dad. Who you phoning? Thought we were going to discuss Albert’s poor career choice and the new era of time-travel?”

“Ssssh just now, Son. I’m phoning your Uncle Lucifer. You know how hard I find it trying to hear him when there’s always a racket going on in the background down his end. The last thing I need is you yapping away in my other ear.”

Jesus passed Albert another can and sat in a huff on the couch.

God gave them the thumbs up, signalling the phone had been answered and he was putting Lucifer on speaker. “Hello my younger, uglier brother. How’s death treating you these days?”

“Same as always. Heat’s killing me. Blood pressure’s through the floor. And these animals won’t give me a minute.”

“Ah well, you know I feel your suffering.”

“Just get on with it. What do you want?”

“You know I mean it. That’s one of the good things about us being so close. It’s impossible to lie.”

“You might think it’s a good thing. Just get on with it.”

“Don’t be huffy…bro.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Okay, okay. What do you know about this neutrino business?”

Lucifer huffed. “It was just for a laugh. I take it you’ve seen the hullaballoo.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it alright. I’ve got the boy telling me it’s time to pack my bags, and Albert’s sitting here threatening to pull out his chalk. I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.”

“Well, not really, I was just getting right into it when that idiot Gaddafi arrived. The place has been in more of an uproar than usual. Haven’t even had a minute to read this month’s Cool Science to find out the latest shit. Look, are you sure there’s no way I could move back into the penthouse? This place is getting out of hand down here. I’m getting too old for it.”

“Come on now, Bro. You know we’ve tried that before. You’re not to be trusted. It’s in your nature. I don’t hold it against you, so don’t hold it against me. It’s not your fault. You are who you are, and I am who I am. And that’s what you get for being Dad’s favourite. Anyway, I’d love to sit and chat all day, but the second half’s starting.”

“Yes, I know. Wasn’t Ronaldo’s goal an absolute peach? I’m so proud of that boy. And what about that Barca goal? It was a mile offside.”

“Bye, Loser…sorry…Lucifer.” God put his iPhone down and turned the volume back up on his TV as the teams ran on to the park. He turned to Jesus and said, “What did I tell you, Son? Nothing to worry about. There will always be plenty of time for Me time, but for now, it’s Messi time.”